Otherwise, Why Bother?
by wutaistars
Summary: He was going to break her, but damn that loony Lovegood. One Shot.


**Written for the Luna Pairing Competition.  
**

* * *

_The first few days were all darkness, like someone shoved her into a broom closet. But broom closets have doors that eventually open, so she waited. And then he started coming into the dark._

"Do you believe in souls?" She asked.

Draco stayed his wand-holding hand and closed his eyes. The question hung in the air, and he had to blink a few times before looking back at the person who asked it. Her arms were chained to the beams, her legs to a pair of metal rings on the wall, but she was looking at him steadily.

"Cruci—" he started, but she asked the question again. Damned Loony Lovegood.

"No," he snapped. "I don't believe in souls. Cru—"

"You should," she persisted, cutting into his Unforgivable Curse, "Otherwise, why bother?"

He brought his face close to hers, so close that he felt her exhaling on his cheek, and he sneered. "Keep at this, Lovegood, and pretty soon it won't be me who'll be asking you questions. Now be a nice girl and tell me where I can find Potter's little hidey-hole. _Crucio._"

Her face crumpled, but she didn't say anything. She didn't even cry out in pain. She doesn't talk to him when he turns his wand on her—she doesn't even look at him.

"Where are they?" The words seemed to rip through him, and he cast another spell on her.

She doubled as far back as the chains would go, but still, nothing. The only sound in the dungeon was the clanking of metal against metal as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was a deflated marionette. Her dirty blond locks fell over her face like a curtain; her pale arms stuck out on odd angles. Draco's father used to speak proudly of this dungeon, boasting of the unevenly attached rings designed to inflict even more discomfort on the prisoner.

Personally, he'd rather just get things over with. Sadly, he cannot report to his aunt without significant improvement, and "significant" in this context is "physically point out where they are." If only Lovegood wasn't so impossible.

With a start, he realized his prisoner had fainted.

* * *

_From her count, it was nearly a week after the Christmas break. Her father must be so worried. The only thing keeping her alive is the thought that perhaps, Neville and the others are safe._

"Do you know what happened to your friend Longbottom's parents? They refused the Dark Lord, and they were tortured to insanity."

"In that case, you wouldn't be able to do much damage to me, would you?"

He turned bright pink. He made a strangled sound, like a cross between a choke and a sob. Pretty soon, he was genuinely laughing, and he didn't stop until tears were trickling down his face. And then he wasn't laughing and crying anymore, just crying.

* * *

_She felt a rumbling in her stomach, and the chains were starting to cut into her ankles and wrists._

"Wouldn't you get in trouble for this?" she asked him as he motioned for her to lift her chin to drink. He poured water and she gratefully accepted. Incredible how she is certain that he didn't do anything, that what she's drinking is plain old water. She's so free.

"I probably would. You're pure blood, though. We don't spill pure blood as much."

She drank the flask dry and closed her eyes. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I don't believe in souls. But I bother because if I don't, I wouldn't be around to not bother about it."

* * *

_Two visits in a day? She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, like a doxy decided to lay eggs there._

"Weren't you here just hours ago? Are you torturing me again?"

Silence. And then, "No, Lovegood."

He sat on the floor a few paces in front of her, and he stared at her dirty feet.

"No. I'm not going to."

* * *

_He hadn't shown up for what seemed like days, and she had started making up stories in her head, which is what she used to do all the time, make stories. She was doing this when the iron door opened and he walked in again. _

"Stand up, I'm moving you."

"Why?"

"You'll be getting a new cell, and a cellmate."

"Draco?"

It sounded like a crisp winter morning, like a petal against skin. He forced himself to look into her eyes, knowing that if he does, he couldn't stand not doing it. Her eyes were pale blue, pale like the rest of her. There was a lump in his throat as he tried to speak.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

And something in him sang.

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